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ROVER AT MISCHIEF 


Pago 53. 































































MY DOG ROYER, 


AND 


SOME GOOD THAT HE DID IN THE WORLD. 

J 

ByMAXWELL. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 
NO. 821 CHESTNUT STREET. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 
THE TRUSTEE8 OF THE 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District 

of Pennsylvania. 

STEREOTYPED BY WESTCOTT A THOMSON. 



i 

i 


LC Control Number 



2008 461684 




















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Links in the Chain that brought Rover 

to me. 5 

II. Rover loses his canine Chum. 26 

III. Rover at the Mill. 44 

IV. Rover at the Bedside. 63 

V. Rover on Guard Duty. 76 

VI. Rover had not lived in Vain. 96 

VII. Rover starting a Sabbath-school. Ill 


3 
































































MY DOG ROYER. 


CHAPTER I. 

Links of the Chain that brought Rover to me. 

One of the saddest mornings that 
his blind uncle ever knew, was when 
Alick Cameron took his little family, 
his cattle and his goods, and went 
forth to make him a new home, on the 
border of the prairies. It is not un¬ 
likely, that his father, at the morning- 
worship read the account of Abraham 
leaving his kindred, and going forth, 
not knowing whither he went. 

How the journey was made, or 
where he settled, does not belong to 

1 * (5) 



6 


MY DOG ROYER. 


my story. J ust how I came to live in 
his family, and just what relation I 
bore to him, need not be told. 
Enough to know, that my reasons for 
calling him uncle Alick are the very 
best. And for some reasons, there 
have been many persons, who gave 
him the same familiar title, although 
in no wise akin to him. Was it be¬ 
cause he was so good, so neighbourly, 
so benevolent, so obliging to all, and 
such a general favourite ? 

My dog Rover is the subject of this 
story. The many, many times he 
was patted on the head and called 
“ good dog, brave fellow,” are not to 
be numbered. Ao doubt I am blind 
to some of his faults, for I thought so 

much of him, that my sentiment was, 

# 

“ love me, love my dog.” Yet with 


MY DOG HOVER. 


7 


all his faults, his life and character 
may furnish some useful lessons to 
the human race. It does not seem 
right for me to represent him as some¬ 
body else’s dog, and give myself a 
fictitious name. So you will allow 
me to write somewhat of myself, and 
use the shortest possible word—I— 
as my name. 

How came Rover to be mine ? 
One thing led to another in a provi¬ 
dential way, for there was no miracle 
about it. We begin back, then, a 
little, and count certain links in the 
“ chain of circumstances,” that brought 
him into my possession. It did not 
happen to be so. The Giver of all 
good wrought the chain of circum¬ 
stances, and Rover was his gift to me. 

The first dog that I remember hav- 


8 


MY DOG HOVER. 


ing owned was Ring, and lie looked 
as if lie had on a white cravat, tied 
under his neck in a beau-knot. One 
evening after hurrying home from 
school to play with him, I found him 
dead at the gate. He had shown 
signs of madness, and been shot. It 
was the first bereavement that I had 
deeply felt. All that could be said 
about how bad it would have been, if 
he had “ gone mad and bit me,” and 
I “ had died of hydrophobia,” came 
to my ears as light as the wind, 
had not learned that we ought to 
thank Grod for the little losses which 
save us from sufferings, danger, or 
even death. If he causes anything 
that we have to be taken away, we 
may be sure that we need not, or 
ought not to have it. 

O 


MY DOG DOVER, 


9 


u Don’t cry ; you shall have another 
dog,” said uncle Alick before I went 
to bed that night. And he repeated 
it, as he wiped away my tears, the 
next morning before family worship. 
When we carried poor Ring away, to 
bury him in a thicket of young oaks, 
Mr. Butler the school-teacher came 
along, climbed over the fence, and 
looked so sad, that it did me a great 
deal of good to know that he felt 
sorry. “ Misery loves company.” 

After this last kindness was done to 
the dead body, uncle Alick walked 
with us to the top of the hill, where 
Ring had often followed me, and I 
had said, “ Now, Ring, go home; 
that’s a good dog.” But 1 should say 
this no more. 

“ Mr. Butler,” said cousin Charles, 


10 


MY DOG ROYER. 


“ clogs know enough without going to 
school,don’t they.” 

“ Well, Charles, they learn much 
from men. But they are very wise 
sometimes by instinct. I have heard 
of a shephercldog that was wiser 
than his master. Three men were 
driving some sheep through a large 
town in order to put them into the mar¬ 
ket. One sheep ran back with all his 
might, and went bleating wildly over 
some vacant lots. The men started 
back after the rebellious one, but 
what do you think the shepherd-dog 
did ?” 

“ I suppose he ran after it, and 
seized hold of it and dragged it back 
and made it go with the others.” 

“ No, he was wiser than that. He 
gave a sign for the men to let him 


MY DOG ROYER. 


11 


have his own way, and then went 
round the flock and drove them all 
back on the commons where the run¬ 
away sheep was. Then he very care¬ 
fully got therun-awav near the centre 
of the flock, and before he was aware 
had him in the market-yard with the 
rest.” 

“ It was a good lesson for the men, 
wasn’t it?” 

“ Yes, and for everybody who may 
hear of that dog’s wisdom. If you 
boys should be playing, and some one 
of the group should get sullen and 
go off and sit down in a pout, it would 
not do for two or three of you to drag 
him back to his play. That would 
never make him good-natured and 
playful. But if you would all go and 
show a good heart toward him, he 


12 


MY DOG HOVER. 


would soon join you again, and do 
what you wished him to do. It is 
well for people to go back a little 
sometimes and lead the offender 
smoothly on again in the right way. 

That very day Mr. Butler had a 
chance to try the plan of the shep¬ 
herd-dog. A little boy, named My¬ 
ron Evans, had been entered as a 
scholar in the morning, but after a 
few hours he was so unhappy that he 
ran out of the room crying and even 
forgetting his cap. The teacher did 
not call out harshly to him, nor move 
one step to arrest him and force him 
back. But he said, “ Now, boys, you 
may all go and play with little My¬ 
ron. He is out there leaning against 
a tree, and does not know what is to 
become of him. Take him his ca}}, 


MY DOG DOVER. 


13 


talk kindly, and play about him so 
gleefully, that he will soon laugh and 
play too. And when you come back 
he will come with you.” The 
went, and the plan was very success¬ 
ful. Myron and myself became the 
best of friends, as vou will see a few 
pages onward. 

One evening, a few years after this, 
we were sitting at supper, when we 
heard a yelp, a rattle of the gate, and 
then the clatter of claws over the floor 
of the porch. “ It’s a dog !” exclaim¬ 
ed Charles, and two or three of us 
were soon on the search. Under an 
old table lay a little brown shaggy 
spaniel, cringing and shuddering, and 
whining as if he had lost his best 
friend, and never expected to find any 

one who would pity him. He seem- 
2 



14 MY DOG ROVER. 

ed to me to shed tears. Whence he 
came, or what had driven him there, 

we never learned. 

“ I guess he’s mad,” said Charles. 

“ Oh, no, he’s not mad,” said uncle 
Alick. “ No danger, a dog frightened 
as he is will not bite.” 

“ Poor dog ! he wants somebody to 
love him,” said I, taking courage 
enough to pat him on the head. 
“ Come, doggie, come,” and he seemed 
ready to nestle under my wings at 
once. 

“ Poor little fellow!” said my good 
grandmother. “Just like one you 
had when you were about two years 
old.” 

“ What was his name?” I asked. 

“ You called him Gyp, a short name 
for Gipsy.” 


MY DOG ROYER. 


15 


“ That shall be your name, clear 
doggie! Ah ! yes, Gryp, don’t get into 
my pockets. But what became of the 
first Gryp?” 

“ Why, you rolled him about, and 
sat on him so much, that he grew very 
lazy, and we thought he died from 
want of fresh air and exercise.” 

“You shall not die for that,” said 
I, patting Gryp, to help him to under¬ 
stand me ; “ you shall go to the woods, 
and dig little striped squirrels out of 
the ground, and bark at all the big dogs 
you see, and play with the little ones.” 

So he did, except that he and I 
learned better than to have any bark¬ 
ing at dogs larger than himself. This 
is not a mark of good manners, any 
more than for boys to make sport of 
strangers as they pass by, perhaps 


16 


MY DOG ROYER. 


saying—“ Go up, thou baldhead !” 
He was also taught one other lesson 
which human beings should learn: 
that was, not to bark just because other 
dogs did. One sometimes talks against 
another, just because other people are 
telling all the bad things they can find 
about a person who ought to be pitied, 
rather than slandered. Somebody al¬ 
ways starts the evil rumours, just as 
the old proverb says—“ One barking 
dog sets all the street a barking.” 

Gyp proved the truth of two other 
old proverbs : “ Every dog is a lion 
at home.” “Every dog is valiant at 
his own door.” It is very easy also 
for men to be brave where there is no 
danger. It is easy for us to stay at 
home, and tell how people ought to 
do at the wars. 


MY DOG DOVER. 


17 


And now comes the story of the 
black sheep. Our good neighbour, 
Mr. Andrews, saw that I had a pet, 
and Charles had none. One evening, 
as he was passing by the meadow, he 
hailed us, and said: “ The old saying 
is, ‘ no flock without a black sheep 
but I see there is none in yours. Come 
to my house some day, and Charlie 
shall have a black lamb for a pet.” 

“ I’ll come,” said Charles, as happy 
as if he had found a gold mine. So 
we went, soon after, and brought home 
the black lamb. But now it was a 
puzzle to know what to do with it. 
It could not stay in the house-yard, 
for Gyp would not let it alone. It 
might almost as well have been on an 
island, with a wolf for company. 
When put with the flock, the sheep 


18 


MY DOG .ROVER. 


hated it so much that they butted their 
heads against it, and it was like a poor 
boy whom nobody will take home. 

“ Ah ! I’ve hit upon a plan,” said 
uncle Alick. “ The white lambs will 
let it live with them. So we will put 
them in the orchard for a few days, 
and let little Blackie stay with them 
until they are well acquainted. When 
the old sheep find that their children 
love Blackie, they will let her come 
and live with the flock.” And so it 
came to pass that Blackie was admit¬ 
ted into the fold and the field. She 
was one of the best of sheep, and all 
the flock loved her as if she were as 
white as any of them. 

Perhaps Mr. Butler did not know 
of this, but he tried a very similar 
plan about this time. There was a 


MY DOG ROYER. 


19 


coloured girl in the neighbourhood, 
whose father had lately died. The 
farmers had given “ Old Joe,” as he 
was called, many a day’s work, and 
none of them wished to be unkind to 
his family after he was dead. They 
saw that he was buried in a neat cof¬ 
fin, and told the widow if she ever 
needed anything, to send her daughter 
“ Birdie” to their houses, and she 
should not go away empty. But no¬ 
body felt like taking “Birdie” into 
their homes, where she could earn her 
living in a kind family. 

She was verv black, but her father 
had thought her a bird, and so she 
was to his happy heart, and he called 
her Birdie. But it was hard for her 
to think that she could not find a 
place in some good family, where she 


20 


MY DOG ROVER. 


could work and help her mother and 
herself through the world. “I do 
want a girl,” said Mrs. Evans, “ but 
I cannot think of taking Black Birdie, 
for I never was used to coloured peo¬ 
ple.” And so said all the rest. 

Birdie came to school. I remember 
how awkward she felt, the first day, 
when she was like the black lamb 
among twenty-five white lambs. But 
she had such a good face, with large 
eyes in the top of it, and a smiling 
mouth in almost the broadest part of 
it, that we could not look at her with¬ 
out catching the smiles, and very soon 
the whole school would be laughing. 
When we read the Bible, she could 
read as well as any of us, and in sing¬ 
ing she was without a rival. She 
sang to us at recess, and told us that 


MY DOG ROVER. 


21 


her father had taught her the songs, 
and then she turned away her face 
and wept. There was not a child, nor 
young man, nor maiden, who did not 
soon feel very kind towards Birdie. 
She brought such parched corn to 
school as I had never seen before, and 
little Myron Evans had somehow got 
in the habit of bringing her a nice 
cake every few days, saying, “ Mother 
sent it to you.” 

“ Mother, when the other children 
come to play and see the mill, I want 
Birdie to come too,” said Myron one 
day as he was starting to school. 

“ Why Birdie is a great deal larger 
than you are!” 

“Yes, but she plays with us at 
school, and sings so, and is just like 
one of us,” said he, “ and I want her 


22 


MY DOG ROYER. 


to come and swing us- in the big 
swing.” 

“ But that would be setting her to 
work for you. You would impose on 
her good nature,” said Mrs. Evans, for 
she did not like to say, “ she is black.” 
Myron did not care if she was, and she 
ought not to care. “ Oh, she likes to 
work. She says that she would rather 
swing us than to swing herself. And 
all the children want her to come.” 

u Very well, you may ask her to 
join with the rest,” and away bound¬ 
ed Myron to school. 

When the day came for the pro¬ 
posed visit, Mrs. Evans had such a 
headache that she could scarcely move 
about the house. She could not make 
any cake for the children, and wanted 
Myron to postpone the whole affair. 


MY DOG ROYER. 


23 


But no! the invitations were all given, 
and he could not go all over the neigh¬ 
bourhood and “ invite them not to 
come.” Then the baby was very cross, 
and there was no help in the house. 
It was arranged, however, that Myron 
was to help his mother all he could 
in the afternoon, and his younger 
sister was to stay in the house, most 
of her time, and rock the baby. 

When the children came, they 
thought “ it was too bad to have such 
a nice visit spoiled,” by one of Mrs. 
Evans’s headaches. I felt so too, though 
I did not blame her because she had a 
headache. But when Birdie came, 
she soon saw where the trouble was, 

4 * 

and offered to go into the house and 
help Mrs. Evans. The baby scowled 
a little at first, but found after a while 


24 


Ml DOG ROYER. 


that her dark face was full of smiles, and 

her lips over-running with song. Babv 

began to think that she had not had 

such a fine time in being carried and 

jumped, and sung to, for many a day, 

so she was content. And when the 

cake-baking came, Birdie knew all 

about it, so that Mrs. Evans had little 

to do but look on delighted and judge 

when they were just brown enough. 

The result was, that the children had 

a good visit, nice supper, merry swing 

after tea, and many memories of the 

mill, the fishes in the brook, and the 

little dogs that lay in the kennel with 

their eyes rather too tender yet, for 

the sunlight of a merry afternoon. 

♦ 

And the blackest of these little dogs 
was Rover. He had three little white 
toes on the right fore-foot. I was to 


MY DOG ROVER. 


25 


have him the next week, if Charles 
would promise to give Myron the 
first black lamb that should appear in 
our flock at home. 

And more than this came to pass. 
Mrs. Evans was so pleased with Bir¬ 
die, that she, soon after, employed 
her, and Birdie had one of the best 
of homes, where she proved one of 
the best of helpers. Mr. Butler had 
introduced her to the whole neigh¬ 
bourhood of children, just as uncle 
Alick had put the black lamb among 
the white ones ; the children had loved 
her, and their parents thus came to 
love her too, so that almost every far¬ 
mer’s wife would have been glad to 
have her excellent help in the house. 

3 


26 


MY DOG ROVER. 


CHAPTER II. 

Rover loses liis canine Chum. 

Then came a night in a certain No¬ 
vember which I shall probably never 
forget. It was the last one to poor 
GJ-yp. For six months Hover had 
slept with him at night, resting from 
the mischief he had done during the 
day. If there were sticks, and bones, 
and stolen shoes in their nest, it was 
enough for Gyp to know that Hover 
wanted them there. If Hover had 
sometimes lined his couch with one 
of grandmother’s silk aprons, or one 
of uncle Alick’s linen coats, dragged 


MY DOG DOVER. 


27 


from the field, they had only to search 
his kennel for all lost goods, punish 
him, and expect him to repeat the mis¬ 
chief at his earliest convenience. 

The hard. November storm had 
passed, leaving his white robes behind 
him, and a new moon was shining on 
the snow. Charles and I went half 
a mile to a little house where lived a 
shoemaker, to get our new boots for 
the winter. Gyp followed us. We 
took a hand-sled along so as to im¬ 
prove every slope in the road, down 
which a sled would run of its own ac¬ 
cord. The night was cold, and we 
were anxious for the boots ; so we did 
not linger on the way. 

As we were about to rap at the 
door, we heard rather loud talking 
within, but after three or four brave 


28 


MY DOG ROYER. 


raps a coarse voice cried out, “ Come 
in,” and we ventured. There sat 
Reuel Tyner, and he seemed to be the 
only polite person in the house. He 
was the uncle of Mrs. Speers, the 
shoemaker’s 'wife, who looked, just 
then, as if she wished we had not in¬ 
truded upon their active quarrel. 

“ Come to the fire, my boys,” said 
Reuel; “ uncle Alick’s boys, are you ? 
ah! if I had such a father as he is I 
wouldn’t be what I am now, a home¬ 
less and abused hireling. But here, 
boys, sit down,” he said, jostling the 
shoemaker so that his awl pierced his 
finger, and offering us the only vacant 
chair to be seen in the room, for us 
both to sit upon. Boys should al¬ 
ways make the best of circumstances, 
and so we both sat on one chair. We 


MY DOG ROVER. 


29 


did not wish to make Mrs. Speers feel 
that her house was poorly furnished. 

“ Boots not ready yet,” said the 
shoemaker; “ would have been if this 
drunken idler had not bothered me 
for the last hour. But I can have 
them finished if you will wait twenty 
minutes.” The man then began to 
quarrel again, as if that would help 
him on with his work. The wife, too, 
with a crying baby in her arms, abused 
her uncle, and at last said, “You’re a 
drunkard; you shall not stay here ; 
leave my house!” 

“ It’s hard for one to be put out of 

the house of his relations,” said he. 

“ Ah ! Melinda ! turn your own uncle 

out such a night as this ! Shame! 

I’m vour mother’s brother. I never 
•/ 

was unkind to you-” 



30 


MY DOG ROYER. 


“ Aot another word,” said the shoe¬ 
maker. “ Out at once ! Begone !” 
But Reuel did not show the least haste, 
Mr. Speers then rushed upon him ; 
they grappled, we cried, Mrs. Speers 
cried, and the baby screamed, and 
Gyp crept under the shoe-bench, 
trembling and whining. He would 
have been glad to sink through the 
floor. The men cursed and struck 
each other, reeling and rolling them¬ 
selves out of the house into the snow. 
A huge mastiff bolted from his kennel, 
barking furiously. Down went the 
baby screaming into the cradle, and 
out went Mrs. Speers with the tongs 
in her hand. But there was no dan¬ 
ger of her venturing near enough to 
these brutal men to do either of them 
any harm. Reuel lay in the snow, 


MY DOG ROYER. 


31 


with a steadier hand than his upon 

• 

his throat. It was the first fight we 
had ever seen, and we looked on, just 
because we did not know what else to 
do. 

“ Now will you go ?” asked the shoe¬ 
maker, no doubt shaking Reuel fiercely, 
so as to be cruel enough to satisfy his 
own anger. 

“Yes!” gasped the injured man, 
“yes! —don’t choke me after I have 
said yes r Reuel was soon on his 
feet, and when I saw the blood on his 
face and hands, the sin of fighting be¬ 
gan to appear more heartless and cruel 
than I had ever before regarded it. 
The thought of running for home with 
all my might came into my mind, and 
still we did not start. Melinda brought 
Reuel his hat, which was the only 


32 


MY DOGr ROYER. 


kindness we had seen her do, the whole 
time, to any one; and as she said, 
“Now begone,” he replied, “Thank 
you, I will,” and he passed down to 
the road. 

Just then,little Gyp seemed to think 
it was his best moment for an escape. 
He sprung through the door, and all 
at once met the huge mastiff, which 
tilled him with such terror that he 
took the wrong path, and was on the 
way to the kennel. The two rulers 
of the house had already got into the 
room where the baby was crying as 
if the whirlwind of passion were car¬ 
rying it away also, and there was no 
one to prevent the mastiff from follow¬ 
ing the wicked example of his master. 
Gyp was seized, and choked again and 
again, while he was yelling out “ yes,” 


MY DOG ROVER. 


33 


as well as he could. Poor little span¬ 
iel ! there was one broken cry, and he 
cried no more. He was dead ! 

We scarcely knew what to do, but 
were resolved upon not entering that 
stormy house again. The mastiff was 
ordered into the room, and Mrs. Me¬ 
linda came out, talking in a strain 
like the following : 

“ Come in, boys. What! is your 
dog hurt ? Dead, isn’t he ? Fright¬ 
ened to death, poor fellow ! Too bad ! 
Well, this all comes from having a 
drunkard about the house! Bovs. 

9 

don’t you ever be drunkards !” [We 
thought we wouldn’t ever be.] “ But 
don’t think we are cruel. We served 
him right, I won’t have him about, if 
he is my mother’s brother. Don’t 
tell uncle Alick about us. Come in,” 


34 


MY DOG ROYER. 


[and she went in.] “Oh my poor 
baby, the naughty drunkard shall not 
have you! No, no, he sha’n’t kiss 
you, nor take you away.” 

The shadow of the house lay upon 
poor dead Gryp, but still his glassy 
eye was seen turned toward us, as if 
he had looked for us to come to his 
aid, in his last moments. We put 
him on the hand-sled, and were slip¬ 
ping away as quietly as possible, when 
the shoemaker called out that Charles’ 
boots were ready for his feet. But 
the boy would not venture into the 
room to try them on. In a few min¬ 
utes more, both pairs were brought 
to us, and without putting them on as 
we had intended, we left the dwell¬ 
ers of that house to think upon their 
sins. 


MY DOG ROYER. 


35 


Our tear, all the wav home was, 
lest we should meet with Reuel. Our 
eyes were set toward every fence cor¬ 
ner, and stump, and our ears listen¬ 
ing for some groan or startling call. 
We reached the house, saw uncle Al- 
ick sitting near the window of the kit¬ 
chen, and dashed in to tell our excit¬ 
ing story, when lo ! there sat Reuel 
crouching near the stove. His face 
was stained with blood, and his hands 
were pressed firmly upon his frosted 
ears. 

“ Come in, boys, do not be afraid,” 
said uncle Alick very softly. “ You 
know Reuel, he will not hurt you.” 

“ Ah ! you saw me once before to¬ 
night, not quite so well off as I am 
here, didn’t you, boys ?” said Reuel, 
with a smile that did not attract us very 


36 


MY DOG ROYER. 


much. “ Did they heat your dog as 
they did me? I heard him yell. 
Was he hurt ?” 

The story was told with many sobs 
on mv part, and many attempts to 
comfort me, on the part of uncle 
Alick and his visitor. We could not 
bear the idea of having the dead 
spaniel buried frozen, and so uncle 
drew on his boots, and did us a kind¬ 
ness by -putting Gyp where he would 

be safe till morning. 

“ Now, uncle Alick,” said Reuel; 

after uncle returned, u this is hard, I 
have a dog’s life of it. They call me 
a drunkard. Am I a drunkard ? 

“ Well, Reuel, you know that you 
drink a great deal, and are often 
drunk.” 

“ That’s a fact, a solemn fact. Can’t 


MY DOG DOVER. 


37 


deny such a fact. But I was not 

4 / 

drunk when they put me out of the 
house. I had slept off the fit, and 
then had taken just one dram, and 
that very man, sir; drank with me. 
Yes, sir, he drank my health, and now 
just look at me! There, sir, look at 
that; you see I have not half emptied 
the bottle,” said he, holding up a 
quart flask which had somehow not 
been broken in the fray. 

“ Well, Reuel, do you think that 
you are any the better, or happier, 
for your drams ?” 

u See here, uncle Alick,” said he, 
setting his face in earnest in full front 
of my uncle’s, “ see here, you’re a 
temperance man, a cold water man. 
I wouldn’t work for you last harvest, 
because you would not give your men 

4 


38 


my dog rover. 


whiskey. But I’d do it now, sir. 
You are president of the Temperance 
Society. I’ve heard you speak on the 
subject. I know your arguments.” 
[Here Rcuel stood up and looked 
quite manly withal.] “ Yes, sir, cold 
water’s the best. It’s the only diink 
God ever made for man. Cold water 
would’nt get a man such a bloody face 
as mine. And, sir, there is no taper¬ 
ing off to this business. A man must 
quit drinking liquor all at once, and 
must stay quit. Your plan is the 
only safe one, sir. Total abstinence 1 
aye, that’s it. Yes, sir, I’m a tee¬ 
totaller after this. Let’s have your 
pledge, I’ll begin right now.” 

“ Better wait till morning, Reuel.” 

“ No, write one now. I want to 
sign it now.” 


MY DOG ROYER. 


39 


“ Better come, wash yourself, bathe 
your forehead, and after a good sleep 
to-night, you will be more fully 
aware of what you are doing.” 

“ But I’m ready now. Let me give 
you my name, and I’ll be off. I don’t 
want to stay here and trouble you all 
night.” 

“ Oh you are not goingaway at this 
hour of the night; where would you 
go? I think you will be as comforta¬ 
ble here as anywhere else.” 

“Uncle Alick, you are my best 
friend. A drunkard never has any 
friends. The very man that drinks 
out of his bottle will turn round and 
drive him from the house. You’re a 
good Samaritan. You’re a Christian. 
You are a gentleman. You are too 
good-.” 



40 


MY DOG ROYER. 


“ Well, Reuel, come now, here is a 
basin of warm water.” 

“ Rather have cold, sir, if you 
please. I’m a cold water man now.” 

By this time we boys had no fear of 
Reuel. As he washed his face and 
set his hair back, we saw that he had 
a full broad forehead, and lips that 
did not love to pass cross words. As 
I handed him a towel, he said, 

“Ah ! boys, you see what rum does ! 
Don’t you ever touch it. It always 
leads a man into bad company. It 
makes his friends hate him. It turns 
him out of doors many a cold night. 
It burns up his body and destroys 
his soul. Don’t I know that the good 
book says, 1 No drunkard shall in¬ 
herit the kingdom of heaven?’ and 
yet the love of rum made me a drunk- 


MY DOG HOVER. 


41 


ard. Don’t ever taste one drop of it. 
God bless you, my good little boys.” 

It was arranged that Reuel should 
sleep in the same room with us boys, 
because it was warm. We went up 
the stairs, and were soon wrapped 
snugly in the covers. Uncle brought 
Reuel up, showed him a bed opposite 
to ours, and left him. Our eyes were 
not off him one minute. He took off 
his coat, uttered a moan or two when 
he saw how it was torn, and took 
something from his pocket. Lo ! there 
was the bottle again. He held it up 
to the light, looked wishfully at it, 
and drew the cork. I expected to see 
it put to his lips. But making a large 
spoon of one hand, he poured some 
rum into it, and began to bathe his 
wounds.” 


42 


MY DOG ROYER. 


“ Not a drop of ye goes down my 
throat any more,” said he, as he 
placed the bottle an the stand. This 
quieted our nerves, and we lay still. 
But his eye caught ours, and he gave 
us another temperance lecture. “ Ah ! 
boys, don’t you ever drink rum, and 
you’ll not be likely to have wounds 
to need bathing with it.” Then roll¬ 
ing into bed he said something about 
“ what a good place it was,” and in a 
few minutes we heard his breath long 
and strong through his nostrils. My 
thoughts then turned toward the dead 
Glyp, and Rover lying all alone in 
his cold kennel. 

The next morning we found Reuel 
on the porch making a friend of Ro¬ 
ver. “ There, boys,” said he, pulling 
a paper out of his pocket, “I’ve got 


MY DOG ROYER. 


43 


it now. That’s ray temperance Pledge, 
and ray name is written on there so 
strong that nobody can get it off.” 
He was indeed a happy man. When 
he left us, after breakfast, his heart 
seemed too full to allow the expression 
of thanks which he wished to make. 
One thing, however, we were sorry to 
see, for in spite of all entreaties he 
would carry with him his half-filled 
bottle. He and Rover are yet to 
meet again, and then we will see how 
he kept his pledge. 


44 


MY DOG ROVER. 


CHAPTER III. 

Rover at the Mill. 

Did you ever notice a young dog 
when looking intently on some object 
that lay near him ?—how he turned 
his head one side a little and looked, 
then turned it the other side and 
gazed ; then curled in his nose and 
tipped forward his ears, and strained 
his eyes in a deep study? Thus Ro¬ 
ver was standing in the door-way, one 
chilly May morning, with his eyes in¬ 
tent upon something near the kitchen 
stove. 

He had learned better manners than 


MY DOG DOVER. 


45 


to come into the house, for when quite 
small he wanted to curl clown upon 
the rug almost all the time. Scold¬ 
ing and whipping did not teach him 
to keep out of the room. But one day 
he crept into a basket, and went to 
sleep. Charles came along, took the 
basket, and hung it up quite near to 
the ceiling. After more than an hour 
Rover waked from his long nap, and 
looked over the edge of the basket. 
It was well that he looked before he 
leaped, or he might have broken his 
neck—a good rule indeed for us all. 
He saw that it was a great deal farther 
now from the basket to the floor, than 
he had lately found it from the floor 
to the basket. And so we always find 
that it is quite easy to go from safety 
into danger, but it is very hard to get 


46 


MY DOG DOVER. 


from danger back into safety. It is 
much easier to pass from right to 
wrong than from wrong back again to 
right. Rover’s only help was to make 
a great noise and cry for some one to 
come and take him down. When on 
the floor he was very much ashamed, 
and he never forgot the lesson he had 
learned in the dear school of painful ex¬ 
perience. He would not come into 
the house. So Rover stood in the door, 
looking at something wrapt in a blan¬ 
ket, and his limbs jerked nervously 
whenever he saw the motion of a 
hidden foot. I had been watching 
him, but had turned away for a 
moment, when Bridget came, and sud¬ 
denly hurled a stick at the studious 
Rover. The poor fellow was hurt 
and limped to his kennel, howling as 


MY DOG ROYER. 


47 


if he intended to publish abroad the 
foolish fears and the anger of Bridget. 

“ Why did you throw such a club 
at him? he was doing no harm,” I 
asked of the offender. 

“ Well, my little mister,” said she, 
in one of her wise ways, “ it’s never 
safe for a young dog to be looking with 
a wishful eye at temptation. That 
little black lamb is not three days old 
vet, and it’s the first black one of the 
flock, and if it’s not nursed tenderly 
it’ll die afore the day does, and what 
then will ye give to yer small gentle¬ 
man, Myron Evans, for that howling 
cub yonder?” 

mJ 

“ He was only looking playfully at 
the lamb.” 

“ Yes, and that’s the way that harm 
comes, first look at a lamb and then 


48 


MY DOCx ROYER. 


kill it. It’s never safe to look at temp¬ 
tation, and it’s not amiss at all to 
teacli you young lads the same thing. 

Ah! yes, Bridget, you were right. 
I see now that many a lad has been 
led into sin, by being allowed to fix 
his eyes upon it. A certain boy 
looked often at Mr. Butler’s knife 
as it lay upon the teacher’s desk, and 
before many days had passed he stole 
it. Another set his eyes upon some 
beautiful blushing apples upon a tree 
that he often passed, and soon after 
he was caught stealing them. Our 
first mother Eve was tempted partly 
in this way. She saw that the for¬ 
bidden “ tree was good for food, and 
that it was pleasant to the eyes,” and 
soon took of the fruit, and did eat, 
and thus came sin into the world. The 


MY DOG BOY EE. 


49 


wise man said, “ Look not thou upon 
the wine when it is red,” for the next 
thing would be to taste it, then drink 
it by the glass, then be a drunkard. 

“ I only want to see,” said a play¬ 
mate of mine once to his mother. 

“ Well, you may go and just take a 
little look,” said she. So he went to 
the door of a beautiful saloon, and 
saw the red decanters, the fine pa¬ 
pered and pictured walls, and some 
men playing cards. It was only a 
little look, but before long he wanted 
to have a longer look, and then went 
to spend hours looking and hearing, 
and wishing that he might take the 
cup and toss the card. He was 
ruined. 

Rover only wanted to see. Per¬ 
haps he might have grown bolder, 


50 


MY DOG ROYER. 


after a while, and injured the black 
lamb ; but I could not believe it then, 
and told him so when patting him, 
and trying to comfort him as he lay 
whimpering in his kennel. He was 
not much hurt, and in half an hour 
he went with me to Mr. Evans’, where 
I wanted to see Myron, and where 
Rover might see his brother Aoble. 
Myron was not at home ; so I went 
into the mill. 

A mill has ever been my admira¬ 
tion. I once thought that a mill¬ 
wright must be one of the most in¬ 
genious of mortals, and the miller 
one of the best natured. I could look 
for hours on the great wheel, and 
wonder whence came all the water 
that fell upon it, and where it all 
went after the wheel had rolled it 


MY DOG ROYER. 


51 


awav. Did the little fishes above the 
wheel ever get safely down to see the 
little fishes that slyly played below ? 
If they were as venturous as boys 
often are, they would certainly make 
the effort, and find, as rash lads do, 
that when half-way down the dan¬ 
gerous career, there is no getting back 
again. 

The mill is a moral instructor, and 
with the picture, we give one of its 
lessons, repeated just as it was once 
told by one of the “ Visitors.” 

Ever grinding goes the mill, 

♦ 

By the ever noisy rill; 

Through the night and in the morn 

Crushing both the wheat and corn. 

And the miller takes his toll 

With his olden wooden bowl. 

If the miller fall to sleep, 

In the enemy will creep, 


52 


MY DOG ROVER. 


Steal the wheat and slily laugh 
As he flings in sand and chafl’; 

Grit he mixes with the meal, 

Or throws in blocks to break the wdieel; 

Then the miller takes no toll 

For many days with wooden bowl. 

Ah ! this mill is bat the heart 
Made by super-human art; 

Man’s the miller, and when still, 

May hear the throbbing of the rill, 

Or when busy he may grind 
The words of truth put in the mind ; 
Man the miller takes his toll 
In richest knowledge for the soul. 

If he sleep, the watching foe 
Wicked thoughts and words will throw 
In the mill ; and they will spoil 
All the gains of mental toil; 

Error’s grit will fe his share, 

Broken wheels will need repair; 

He will take no truth for toll 
’Till the Lord renews his soul. 


Rover cared little for the words 
“No admittance” written over one of 


MY DOG ROVER. 


53 


the doors, and snuffing along the 
floor, he entered a small room. See¬ 
ing a rope hanging quite low, he laid 
hold of it, in sport, and began to pull 
with all his might. If u Hands off,” 
had been written upon it, that would 
have made no difference. He must 
meddle with every thing that would 
interest him. So he tugged away at 
the rope, and all at once the mill 
stopped ! One wheel had been drawn 
from its place, and the others could 
not move. 

The miller was quite surprised, but 
soon thought what the trouble was, 
and rushing into the small room, 
found Rover growling and pulling at 
the rope. Had the miller been like 
some men, he would have given Ro¬ 
ver a kick hard enough to lift him 


54 


MY DOG ROYER. 


off his feet, but when I came in, the 
good-natured man was laughing in 
the merriest mood. All he had to 
do, was to pull another rope, and set 
the mill again in motion. So Rover 
went unpunished. 

One mischief often leads to another. 
Rover next thought he would inquire 
a little into some flour that was in a 
small box, but he snuffed it so hard 
that it whitened his face, and filled his 
eyes, and then starting back he tilted 
over another box and spilt the flour 
all over him. He was then severely 
rebuked, and ran from the mill, shak¬ 
ing himself as if he was ashamed to 
be laughed at for his meddlesome 
folly. He tried to wash the flour off 
by bathing in the stream, but this 
only made the matter worse. It is 


MY DOG KOVEK. 


thus generally with those who try to 
mend or hide the mischief they have 
done. It is like washing out the 
marks on a white-washed wall, in or¬ 
der to escape detection ; the more you 
wash, the worse the wall appears. It 
is like eating garlic to remove from 
the breath the fragrance of onions ! 

44 Good for him,” said the miller, 
44 it will teach him not to be so med¬ 
dlesome. And that is something well 
worth learning. I never knew any 
one to get hurt in the mill, if he paid 
attention to the words 4 no admit¬ 
tance,’ and ‘hands off.’ Let me tell 
you a story.” 

41 Oh look there!” shouted Black 
Birdie, rustling into the mill to get 
some flour in her pail, 44 look ! the 
swallows are making fun of Rover, 


56 


MY DOG ROYER. 


for being white-washed. That’s no 
way for him to get a white-coat, for 
when it washes off he will be as black 
as ever, and now he is laughed at for 
his folly.” 

“ Let me tell my story,” said the 
miller, after Birdie had gone. u One 
night some wag crept in through 
the door of the mill, took down that 
sign, and carried it across to Parton’s 
grocery, and put it over his door.” 

“ So he stole your sign, did he ?” 

“ I suppose it was stealing, but he 
thought I would get it again. The 
next morning two men came early to 
the grocery to get a dram, and seeing 
the door shut, and the sign over it, 
they began to wonder what it meant. 
‘ No admittance!’ said one as he read 
it; ‘ Mr. Parton must be sick this 


MY DOG ROYER. 


57 


morning.’ ‘ Well, let us go on to the 
next tavern,’ said the others, and on 
they went. After a while some team¬ 
sters came along, and as they were 
watering their horses at the trough, 
Mr. Parton stood in his door anxious 
for customers, and called out ‘ Come 
in, and get warm, I’ve got some first- 
rate liquor now.’ 

“ ‘ JN T o, sir!’ shouted one of the team¬ 
sters, ‘ your sign reads, “ no admit¬ 
tance!” Good sign for a dram-shop, 
Mr. Parton.’ The teamsters were all 
laughing at the dram-seller, and he 
came out of the shop to read his new 
and appropriate sign. 

“ ‘ Let it be,’ said one of the men, 
‘ you’ll never have so good a sign 
again, and if you would write on 
every bottle and barrel you have got, 


58 


MY DOG ROYER. 


i hands off,’ you would have it com* 
plete. If I could, I would have such 
a sign over every dram-shop in the 
land.’ But Mr. Barton was quite 
angry, tore down the sign, and hur¬ 
ried to put it into his stove.” The 
shop was for a long time after nick¬ 
named the c no admittance grocery.’ ” 

“ I guess dram-sellers would not 
like to have such a sign as that,” said I. 

“ No ; it would injure their trade 
if men would heed it. I do not sup¬ 
pose we have any right to put 1 no 
admittance,’ over their doors, but we 
can imagine it to be there. I heard 
one of those teamsters say that he 
always thought of it afterward, as he 
passed by, and resolved never to en¬ 
ter such a shop again if he could help 
it. So there was some good done.” 


MY DOG ROYER. 


59 


By this time Myron Evans ap¬ 
peared, and when told that the pro¬ 
mised black lamb had made its appear¬ 
ance at our house, he declared that 
he could not wait another day to have 
it home. We hastened to talk with 
his mother on the subject. 

“ Why, no,” said Mrs. Evans, “ let 
it stay with its mother a few weeks 
longer. The poor sheep will not like 
to lose her lamb so soon.” 

“ But it does not stay with her now, 
and she won’t feel so badly about los¬ 
ing it now, as she will after a while,” 
argued Myron. 

“ How will you raise it ?” 

“ By hand. It can drink out of a 
cup already.” 

“ But you cannot stay out of school 
to take care of it, and I am sure I 


60 


MY DOG ROVED. 


have my own lambs to take care of. 

Who will feed it?” 

“ I will,” said Birdie, “ I know how, 
for uncle Alick gave me a little lamb 
once that could not walk, and I took 
care of it, and now it’s a big sheep, 
and mother says she would be lonely 
when I am away, if it was not for it. 

u Very well, you may go and bring 
it home,” said Mrs. Evans, “ for I 
suppose you count a fortune in that 
lamb. Take the buggy, and be very 
careful how you drive.” 

“ Well, mother, if I have been 
driving old John all the afternoon, I 
think I can drive him safely enough 
now, don’t you?” 

“ Oh, I suppose so, but old horses 
sometimes play strange pranks with 
young drivers.” 


MY DOG HOVER. 


61 


We were soon on the wa} r through 
the first lane, talking in great glee, 
and laughing at Rover as he tried to 
brush the flour off him by running 
among the bushes. Birdie sat with 
Myron on the seat, and I stood up 
behind, clinging to the top of it. All 
at once Hover dashed out from the 
hazels, and frightened old John, so 
that as he sprang forward, I'fell back¬ 
ward to the ground. I only remember 
seeing Mr. Evans’s house as I fell, and 
the severe pain w^hich I felt, while 
my young friends were lifting me 
into the buggy. Later in the evening, 
I av r oke as from a dream, wondering 
wdiere I was, and how I came there. 
There w T as uncle Alick bending over 
my cot. and asking, “ Do you knov r 
me ? Do you know T who this is?” 

6 


G2 


MY DOG ROVER. 


u Doctor Wells ; what's the matter, 
Doctor ?” 

“ I am quite well, and am glad that 
you are better,” he replied. 

I did not know that the family had 
been so anxious lest I should never 
recover, nor recognize them again. 
My reply gave them great joy, but 
the time was one of great pain to me. 

I learned afterward, that the black 
lamb had been taken to its new home, 
and there are now some dim memo¬ 
ries of uncle Alick talking to me of 
the bright world above, and reading 
the Bible and kneeling by my pillow, 
and imploring the blessing of God 
upon me, before I fell asleep. 


MY DOG ROYER. 


63 


CHAPTER IY. 

Rover at the Bedside. 

There are some persons who ridi¬ 
cule those little books which are 
written about good children who died 
quite young. To me they are sacred. 
I never got the idea from them that 
all good children die early, and that 
if I tried to be like them I would die 
at an early age. Nor do I think that 
any one else ever really came to such 
a conclusion. One of these books 
made a lasting impression on my 
mind. 

It was a beautiful spring day, the 
next week after my fall, when Rover 


64 


MY DOG ROVER. 






and I were playing under one of the 
trees in the front yard. I was sitting 
in a chair, and throwing a ball for him 
to hunt in the grass, and bring to me. 
He was also learning to catch the ball 
in his mouth, when tossed at him. 

“ Well, don’t you think you could 
read a little?” asked Aunt Anna, a 
widowed sister of Uncle Alick, who 
lived but a little way otf, and who had 
come to see me that morning. “ It 
might be as profitable as to play with 
that dog.” Aunt Anna did not like 
dogs. 

“Yes, Aunt, and I do read some 
now, every day. I’m going to work at 
Rollin’s Ancient History to-morrow. 

“ Well, see here, I have brought 
you a little book that will do you 
good if you will read it. It will tell 


MY DOG ROVER. 


65 


vou what to do while you are sick, and 
if you should never get well—” 

Aunt Anna could not finish the 
sentence for her weeping. I took the 
book, and read, “ Nathan W. Dicker- 
man,” on the title-page. I had never 
cared to read it, and had not my 
aunt shown such tenderness toward 
me, it probably would have been 
carelessly laid on the shelf for the 
next Sabbath, and perhaps not been 
read then. But her unfinished sen¬ 
tence kept ringing in my ears. “ If 

you should never get well-” I 

knew what she wanted to say, and her 
broken sentence gave me a great deal 
of light. It was like a flash of light¬ 
ning, which once afterward showed me 
my danger, when I was out of my 

path on a dark night. I was going 
6 * 



66 


MY DOG ROYER. 


home and had a bridge to cross. I 
co uld see nothing, but thought that I 
was feeling my way safely, when all 
at once the flash of lightning showed 
me that I was just about to step over 
a steep bank into the swift cold waters 
of the stream. I then knew where I 
was, and found my way to the bridge. 

I now saw that I had been near to 
the brink of death, nor had I found 
the way across its swift and cold 
stream. For some time I did not care 
for Rover, and paid all my attention 
to the little book, until he came dash¬ 
ing upon me, tilted over the chair and 
rolled me out upon the grass. Then 
he sat down on his haunches close to 
me, putting one paw on my breast, as 
if he meant that I should not get up, 
and to please him I lay there too long. 


MY DOG ROYER. 


67 


“ Why, Maxwell!” cried my Aunt 
Anna, “you will surely catch cold 
lying there on the ground. What if 
you should be sick again, and never 
get well !” 

“ I forgot about that,” I replied. 

“ Don’t you think it would be bet¬ 
ter not to think so much of your dog, 
and to think more about yourself?” 

“Yes, aunt, but Rover thinks so 
much of me that I cannot get rid of 
him.” 

“ Well, bring him in the house with 
you,” said she, much to my surprise, 
for a dog in the house was her utter 
detestation. “ Come, Rover,” said I, 
“ aunt won’t scold you this time. 
Come right along, and be a gentleman 
in the parlour.” 

But not a foot would he put over 


68 


MY DOG ROVER. 


the threshold. Aunt Anna smiled and 
promised him the most perfect safety, 
and I coaxed him, and tossed the ball 
across the room, but not a step would 
he take into the parlour. He remem¬ 
bered the basket on the wall. 

“ Yow, aunt,” I asked, “ don’t you 
really think that he is the politest dog 
you ever saw? His good manners 
would just suit you. And see what a 
fine eye he has.” 

“ Yes, and he has a fine ear too, for 
he seems to know when you flatter 
him. See him now.” There sat Ho¬ 
ver looking in our faces as if he were 
saying, “ Do you also observe this 
broad chest, and this high forehead, 
and these erect ears?” He looked 
sublime in his vanity. 

“ Yow, aunt, say if there is not one 


MY DOG HOVER. 


69 


clog in the world that you can admire ? 
1 Love me, love my dog,’ you know.” 

“ He is like some people whom I 
have seen—he looks the best when he 
feels the proudest.” 

“Well, aunt, he is proud of you. I 
should not be surprised if you would 
invite him into your house when we 
come to see you the next time.” 

“ I begin to fear that you will not 
come unless he be allowed to sit on 
the sofa with you.” 

“ I will bring him then, as soon as 
I get well, and we will see whether he 
will be afraid to enter your door.” 

“ I hope you may soon be well 
again, but I have been thinking that 
if it had not been for him you would 
not have been, almost killed by your 


70 


MY DOG ROYER. 


“ Why, aurjt, I do not blame him 
for that. He meant no harm.” 

“ Perhaps God meant it for your 
good. If it had not been for your fall, 
perhaps you would not be willing to 
read the little book I brought you.” 

“ I will read it, aunt, for your sake.” 

“ No, Maxwell, I would rather you 
would read it for your own sake—I 
mean for the sake of your soul.” At 
this my good aunt turned away, for 
she could say no more without weep¬ 
ing. I sat down by the window and 
began to read the little book. Its 
pages were turned too rapidly, but no 
one can tell how the story of “ Nathan 
W.Dickerman” mademe feel. For the 
first time I saw myself a sinner, in 
danger of being lost, and wished that 
I was a Christian. 


71 


MY DOG ROYER. 

In a few hours it was found that I 
had taken a severe cold, probably by 
lying on the grass. The intense pains 
which my fall had caused, began to 
come back, and a burning fever set in. 

My sickness continued for several 
weeks. I can remember how my 
Aunt Mary wept, how Uncle Alick 
prayed, how the cheerful old doctor 
came day after day bringing the best 
of sunshine with him, and how my kind 
Aunt Anna sat by my bedside and 
read the little book to me, always say¬ 
ing something, in a very gentle way, 
for my good. 

Poor Rover had been greatly blamed 
for the part he had taken both in my 
fall and in mv fever, and he seemed to 
lay it sadly to heart. Aunt Anna 
watched him, and said that she verily 


72 


MY DOG ROYER. 


believed he made the most careful 
preparations to come in and see me, 
by bathing in the brook several times 
and letting the sunshine wipe him dry 
and put the most beautiful gloss upon 
him. 

He had sometimes been seen with 
his fore-feet upon the outside window¬ 
sill, stretching himself up and look¬ 
ing in upon me when I knew not 
what he was doing. But after a few 
days he found the curtains drawn 
close, and then he made bold to enter 
the room under cover of the doctor's 
cloak. Aunt Anna patted him a lit¬ 
tle, and he softly came to my bedside, 
put his cheek upon my hand, looked 
into my eyes, and seemed to weep. I 
spoke to him, pinched his ear after 
the old fashion, and he was so de- 


MY DOG ROYER. 


73 


lighted that he did his very best to 
speak. From that hour he was my 
most constant attendant, often with 
my good aunt. She began to love 
him, and he did all he could to return 
the affection. When she went home, 
he would go with her to her gate, and 
then hasten back. If she was absent 
when I seemed very sick, he would 
run and summon her. 

I cannot help thinking that Rover’s 
attentions had something to do with 
my recovery from a long sickness, 
and he might come in for a share of 
the praise which Mrs. Browning gives 
to her dog Flush. 

“ Other dogs may be thy peers 
Happy in these drooping ears 
And this glossy fairness. 

But of thee it shall be said, 

This dog watched beside a bed, 


my dog hover. 


Day and night unweary, 

Watched within a curtained room, 

Where no sunbeam brake the gloom 
Round the sick and dreary. 

Roses gathered for a vase, 

In that chamber died apace 

Beam and breeze resigning— 

This dog only, waited on, 

Knowing that when light is gone, 

Love remains for shining. 

Other dogs in thymy dew 
Tracked the hares and followed through 
Sunny moor and meadow— 

This dog only, crept and crept 
Next a languid cheek that slept, 

Sharing in the shadow. 

Other dogs of loyal cheer 
Bounded at the whistle clear 
Up the woodside hieing— 

This dog only, watched in reach 
Of a faintly uttered speech 
Or a louder sighing. 

And if one or two quick tears 
Dropped upon his glossy ears, 


MY DOG ROYER. 


75 


Or a sigh came double— 

Up he sprang in eager haste 
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast, 
In a tender trouble. 

And this dog was satisfied, 

If a pale thin hand would glide 
Down his dewlaps sloping— 
Which he pushed his nose within, 
After platforming his chin, 

On the palm left open. 

Therefore to this dog will I, 
Tenderly not scornfully, 

Render praise and favor ! 
With my hand upon his head, 

Is my benediction said, 

Therefore, and for ever.” 


76 


MY DOG ROVER. 


CHAPTER Y. 

Mover on Guard Duty. 

“ There’s a good deal of moral 
principle in a dog, if lie has been well 
trained in his youth,” said Uncle 
Alick one day to a friend, as they 
were sitting by a window, talking of 
old times. A poor woman had just 
passed round to the side door, leaving 
her basket at the root of a tree. Ro¬ 
ver had come along, to see that she 
had no evil intentions, and had walked 
slowly to the basket, and taken a 
peep at its contents. There he stood 
gazing, and showing himself to be as 


MY DOG DOVER. 


* 



black and glossy a dog, as ever you 
saw, with scarce a curl on him, except 
that graceful curve described by his 
tail as it was rounded up over his 
back. 

“ See that fellow !” said Uncle Alick. 
“ He seems to have a conscience. He is 
quite sure that there is something in 
that basket which he would like, for 
we are having a late dinner to-day, 
and he must be hungry. But he is 
debating what he will do.” 

“ Desire on the one hand, and con¬ 
science on the other, you think ? But 
conscience seems to prevail. See, he 
lies down now, as if he had assumed to 
act as guard.” 

After a little, there came a man 
shabbily dressed and very dusty, who 
had concluded that his wife had 


78 


MY DOG ROYER. 


found some dinner and who wished to 
share equal privileges with herself. 
If he must beg, he chose not to dine 
by the road-side, if he could be invited 
within doors, or perhaps he thought 
she had found a good chance for steal¬ 
ing, and he wished to have a share in 
the spoils. Seeing the basket, he 
made for it, in no little haste. Rover 
gave fair warning, as a French guard 
would do by presenting bayonet at a 
foreigner who should attempt to enter 
the emperor’s palace without a proper 
pass. But the dusty man made a 
resolute spring forward, and came so 
near grasping the basket, that he 
overturned it, and as Rover came 
fully up to his assumed duty, he 
brought about a fray, and in the fray 
the contents of the basket were strewn 



ROVER ON GUARD 


Page 78 
























































































MY DOG ROYER. 


79 


upon the grass. Uncle Alick did not 
suppose that Rover would injure the 
man, and leisurely went to the scene. 

No wonder the woman did not 
wish to carry the basket into the 
house, for it might be examined. No 
wonder the vagrant man had been so 
eager to get it into his possession, for 
he had a prize therein. There lay in 
full view a well-dressed chicken, both 
tender and good, as Rover, doubtless, 
had imagined. There, too, were some 
silver spoons and jewelry. 

Rover kept his man at bay, as if 
he thought it wise not only to wait 
for the woman to claim her basket, 
but to invite an examination of all 
that had been in it. Of course, I do 
not mean to intimate that he could 
read the name engraved on the 


80 


MY DOG ROYER. 


spoons, for he had not yet attained 
to such an accomplishment. He sim¬ 
ply fancied that the strangers had no 
right to the property over which he 
had posted himself as guard, and in 
this he was correct. He was keeping 
it for the woman, who had a long and 
marvellous story to tell, much more 
wonderful than the one I am now 
telling. She appeared, and by this 
time uncle Alick suspected something- 
wrong, for silver spoons do not usual¬ 
ly form part of an honest beggar’s 
goods. So he said, “ Watch them, 
Hover.” 

u Away with you !” grumbled the 
woman, but Rover would not away. 
He had orders now from a high 
authority, and his notion of a faithful 
guard was, to obey orders. 


MY DOG ROVER. 


81 


“Call off your dog!” cried the 
vagrants, muttering about their pro- 
erty, and execrating and denouncing 
the guard, as well as complaining of 
uncle Alick for the orders he had 
given. 

“ Why, you have rather a valuable 
store there, for persons travelling as 
you are,” said uncle Alick. 

“ Yes, sir, bless you,” replied the 
woman, who seemed to be the chief 
of the two; “we are very poor now, 
sir; that’s the last of our fortune. 
We were rich enough to be comfort¬ 
able once. But the hard times came 
on us,” [Rover looked at her as if he 
did not believe one word she said,] 
“ awful times they were, sir, in the old 
country, and we spent all that we had 
left in coming where the good people 


82 


MY DOG ROVER. 


always welcome foreigners. But, oh 
sir, I couldn’t part with the spoons! 
]STo, sir; not at all, at all! They 
were my dear mother’s last gift to 
me, and that broach there, sir, was 
her bridal present to me. Your 
women folks have been very kind to 
me, sir, and now if you’ll only let us 
go on our way, I’ll not honour you, 
sir, by asking anything more at all.” 

Aunt Anna had been moved with 
pity, at hearing a different version of 
her story but a few minutes before, 
and had given her some money. 

“ But this fowl,” said uncle Alick, 
“ is that a relic of your fortune ?” 

“ Well, sir, a lady was good enough 
to give us the biddy, to carry to our 
daughter, who lives farther on than 
we thought. It’s a rare kind, sir, but 


MY DOG ROVER. 


83 


we couldn’t carry the poor thing, and 
so we killed it, and pulled the feather’s 
off as we walked along.” 

“ What is your name, if you 
please ?” Uncle Alick had the spoons 
in his hand. 

“ That’s not my name on them, sir, 
you see they once belonged to a rich 
lady, who gave them to my mother.” 

“ Her name, if you please.” 

“ And, sir, it escapes me, just now 
in the fright, but if I see the letters 
on the spoons, it will come to mind, 
sir. Upon my word, sir, I am telling 
the truth.” 

“ I think I know these spoons ; they 
seem to be some that I gave away 
once as a present. There is the 
maker’s name too.” The woman 
was foiled. Aunt Anna, whose at- 




84 MY DOG ROVER. 

tention had been called to the affair, 
appeared upon the scene, and was 
shown the silver. 

“ Why, did you ever ! I left that 
chicken in my house when you sent 
for me to come and see our friend, 
and locked the door. But these peo¬ 
ple have broken in, in my absence. 
Surely, these are my spoons. See my 
initials? And that breast-pin too !” 
She was astonished. 

“ Do not be in haste,” said uncle 
Alick to the vagrants. “ Let us 
know what else you have, that does 
not belong to you.” 

“ And we’ll be off; it’s nothing 
more that ye’ll get out of us.” 

“ Rover, watch them.” He ran to 
the gate, preventing escape through 
that quarter. “ I have no legal right 


MY l)Oa HOVER. 


85 


to stop them, but Rover will assume 
the authority of a sheriff, and we will 
see what else they may have done.” 

Aunt Anna was already on the way 
to her house, which stood a short dis¬ 
tance off. Uncle Alick followed, and 
while the visitor and myself looked 
on, the beggars, closely hemmed in 
by the sharp-eyed guard, began to 
wonder what was to befall them. 
Then they quarrelled in as low voices 
as their anger would permit. 

“ If ye hadn’t had yer own way,” 
said she, “ ye’d not had them in the 
basket.” 

Under excitement they each forgot 
to affect smooth English. 

“ Yes, indade ; and if I didn’t take 
care of ye, it’s a poor out ye’d make 

of it, paddin’ through the wourld.” 

8 


86 


MY DOG ROYER. 


No doubt, there was truth in her 
unamiable statement. 

“ Yer pack’s so heavy now, ye’ll not 
go a mile without groanin’ under it.” 

“ Och, but they’ve found it all out, 
they’re a cornin’ again.” He made 
another effort to force a passage. But 
the guard was indomitable. 

“ Deny the pack. Let me manage 
it,” said she, in a gentle tone. 

“Now be so accommodating as to 
show us where those silks and laces 
are,” said uncle Alick. “ You have 
a pack somewhere.” 

“ He carry a pack ! Such a worn- 
out body as he! An’ it’s a likely 
suspicion that ye have.” 

“ Come now, show us the pack.” 
Uncle opened the gate, and the woman 
started one way, and the man another. 


MY DOG HOVER. 


87 


“ But which am I to follow ?” 

“ Show it to him then said she, 
walking on quite rapidly. He pre¬ 
tended to obey, walked along the 
fence, looked into corners, but did 
not seem likely to find anything. 
Suspecting that she was hurrying 
away in the opposite direction, in 
order to prevent the pack from being 
found, or carrying otf something which 
she had concealed about her, he pointed, 
saying, “ Rover, watch now!” and she 
soon found him disputing the right 
of way. 

“ Now, sir, you go and bring me 
whatever stolen goods that woman 
has hidden about her, and we will 
find your pack, if possible.” The 
man saw that Uncle Alick meant 
what he said, and soon brought back 


88 


MY DOG ROVER. 


the silks and laces. But the pack 
was not found. 

“ Come, Rover, track now,” and 
uncle Alick found the track of the 
man, made when he was first coming 
to the gate. Rover snuffed the dust, 
and went in a zig-zag way until he 
found the pack in the direction which 
the woman had taken in her hurried 
march. 

“ Now, madam, he kind enough to 
open that pack.” After much pro¬ 
testing, and utterance of abuse, and 
many angry tears, she loosed the 
strings. And such a chaos has rarely 
been packed! No peddler could de¬ 
sire a greater variety. 

“ There is nothing of mine there,” 
said Aunt Anna, who had begun to 
pity the “poor creatures,” and even 


MY DOG ROYER. 


89 


before the laces were found, besought 
Uncle Alick to let them go, saying, 
“ It seems harsh to search them so 
closely.” But he thought that “ it 
would teach them a lesson they had 
never committed well enough to 
memory, and would make them more 
honest.” 

“Ah, more spoons? Odd ones— 
and more jewelry? What is in that 
silk handkerchief?” 

“ A little money, sir. My poor 
man may come to want yet.” 

“ And that stuffed away there?” 

“ Just a rag, sir ?” 

“ Bather a new one, I think,” said 
Uncle Alick, pulling it out of the 
pack.” 

“ Why, Aunt Anna, there is your 
shawl!” said I, for I had been so in- 


90 


MY DOG BOYER. 


terested in what was going on, that, 
with my cane, I had got some dis¬ 
tance from the house. 

u Sure enough ! It must be mine, 
for here is my mark on it.” 

“We will relieve you of that, madam,” 
said Uncle Alick, and seeing nothing 
more that he could claim, he gave 
them some excellent advice, and told 
them that the wide world was theirs 
to roam in, but that very much of the 
property in it was not theirs to appro¬ 
priate. They departed with more ex¬ 
perience, but whether with any repent¬ 
ance and improvement, is quite doubt¬ 
ful. I may say, just here, that Uncle 
Alick took measures afterwards to 
have the vagrants arrested, and the 
stolen property restored to the owners, 
as far as it could be done. 


MY DOG ROVER. 


91 


a Why, Maxwell, how is it that you 
are out of the house ?” uncle said. 
“ Is not this too much of a walk for 
you ?” So picking me up, he carried 
me to the house. It was my first 
walk for several weeks, and my last 
for several days. 

Our visitor thought Rover a “ most 
astonishing dog,” in which opinion 
Aunt Anna was perfectly agreed. She 
intended that he should have all the 
eatable part of the stolen and re¬ 
covered property, for the vagrants had 
indignantly refused to accept of the 
well-dressed chicken when pressed 
upon them as a gift. 

“ Cook it then first, so that he will 
not know it as the same one,” said 
Uncle Alick, “ for I don’t wish him to 
\hink, (if he can think,) that because 


MY DOG ROYER. 


he guards anything he is to have part 
of it. If he adopts this doctrine, it 
may prove rather destructive of our 
lambs, when he watches them in the 
3 r ard here and keeps them off the gar¬ 
den. And besides, after such a reward 
he may attack some of these poor peo¬ 
ple when they come.” 

“ It might save you some trouble if 
he should,” said our visitor. “ I would 
not object to that. They are a mis¬ 
erable set.” 

“ If so, we should not be unkind 
to them. An honest beggar may come 
next time. What do you think about 
it, Anna ? Are you as ready to listen 
to them, and give them money?” 

“ I shall listen more cautiously. 
But I was just thinking, that if I had 
not listened to the woman’s pitiful 


MY DOG ROYER. 


93 


story, she would not have remained 
in the house long enough for Rover to 
act the part which he so ably per¬ 
formed, and my stolen articles would 
have been gone, and I would have 
been puzzled to know what had be¬ 
come of them, and perhaps charged the 
theft on some innocent person. I 
would give ten times, as much as I 
gave her, rather than harbour such a 
suspicion. Now I know who did’nt 
steal the spoons, as well as who did.” 

“ Who would you have suspected.” 

“ It is not best to mention names. 
If we do so once, we are apt to do so 
again, and the whisper gets out and a 
rumour is started, and then some poor 
body is sure to be slandered. But it 
is some one who, as you said the other 
day, was honest and worthy in your 


94 


MY DOG ROYER. 


opinion, and I shall now think so 
after this.” 

“ One case of deception, then, does 
not lead you to think ill of people 
generally,” said our visitor. “ You 
seem to think all the better of your 
neighbours, and perhaps of the world 
at large.” 

“ All the more charitably at least.” 

“ And charity hides a multitude of 
sins.” Indeed it does, and let us keep 
enlarging its mantle, by knitting pity 
and mercy to its edges, so that it may 
cover all those whom we know are 
tempted, and whom we may suspect 
of doing us an injury. 

For as Uncle Alick said that day, 
“ it is better to run the risk of being 
imposed upon, than to indulge suspi¬ 
cion, and make that an excuse for re- 


N 


MY DOG ROYER. 


95 


fusing to do a kindness. We can 
forgive the imposition, and perhaps 
forget it, but a suspicion burns deeper 
and deeper within us, until we become 
little volcanoes, throwing out scorch¬ 
ing lava upon our neighbours, instead 
of pure fountains filling the cup for the 
meanest beggar that stops to drink, as 
well as for the most honest labourer, 
who quenches his thirst, cools his 
brow, and thanks his God.” 


96 


MY DOG ROYER. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Rover had not Lived in Vain. 

“ Now, my lad,” said the good Dr. 
Wells, one day when about to leave, 
“ I think I may give you into the 
hands of your friend Rover, for I 
need not leave you any more medi¬ 
cine, if he will engage to keep you 
in a cheerful mood.” 

“ He wants to help me all he can, 
Doctor,” said I, “ and is trying to get 
me out on the grass.” 

“ Well, it is not best to get on the 
grass too soon, for you might stay 
there too long again.” Then speaking 


MY DOG ROYER. 


97 


to Aunt Anna, he said, “ If Rover 
had a part in bringing on your 
nephew’s sickness, I think we must 
allow him a part in his recovery. 
Noble dog! there is not one like him 
mentioned in all the Bible.” 

“ The Bible does not speak very 
highly of dogs,” she replied, “ al¬ 
though our Saviour ascribed a great 
deal of kindness to those that were 
so attentive to poor Lazarus, for com¬ 
forting him in his sorrows.” 

“ And the remarkable thing about 
that is, that the Jews did not have 
dogs about their homes as we do. 
The dogs mentioned in the Bible 
were generally wild and savage, and 
prowled about the streets as a sort of 
town-wolves. Nobody tamed and 
petted them. They were forbidden 

9 


98 


MY DOG ROYER. 


as unclean. They were despised as 
mean and unfriendly. They were 
not the faithful dogs that sometimes 
draw children out of the water, or 
watch by the bedside of a sick mas¬ 
ter. A dog, therefore, is rarely men¬ 
tioned in Scripture with honour.” 

“ And that is why certain wicked 
men are compared to dogs,” said 
Aunt Anna. 

“ Yes, and very bad dogs too. Not 
to such a noble fellow as Rover, but 
to such as roamed about in Syria, 
when Hazael asked, in scorn of the 
prediction that he would commit a 
most wicked deed, ‘Is thy servant a 
dog ?’ ” 

“And you think that kindness to 
them makes them what they are 
now ?” 


MY DOG HOVER. 


99 


u Certainly ; and kindness will tame 
some of that sort of people, who are 
compared to them. Give them a 
home, see that they are well clothed 
and fed, and treated in a friendly 
way, and it will work a great change 
in their treatment of us, and then, 
with the power of the Bible upon 
them, they may become like lambs, 
and be a part of the great flock of 
the Good Shepherd.” 

So it is human kindness that has 
tamed and ennobled the dog. I was 
thinking of this, after the doctor 
left, and was trying to call up to 
mind some of the dogs of the Bible, 
when Hover gave some one to under¬ 
stand that he was on picket-duty, and 
was waiting for the pass-word. Look¬ 
ing toward the gate, I saw a man 


100 


MY DOG ROVER. 


corning up the walk, carrying a box, 
and when he set it on the porch I saw 
there was a squirrel in it. 

“ Do vou know me?” he asked. 

*/ 

“ Yes, sir, Reuel Tyner.” I put 
out my hand. 

“ I’m rather rough-fisted to take 
such a thin white hand as yours,” 
said he, but he gave mine a good 
hearty shake, and held it, asking me, 
what was the matter. I explained. 
Rover had his eye on the squirrel, 
and paced nervously around the 
box. 

“ Ah ! that’s the dog that was so 
kind to me the morning I signed the 
temperance pledge. How he has 
grown ! Three white toes yet! How 
sleek and shiny !” 

“ You remember him then?” 


MY DOG ROYER. 


101 


“ I reckon I do ! Never will for¬ 
get him ! why he helped make a tem¬ 
perance man of me.” 

“ How was that ?” 

“Why, you see, I got up that 
morning very early. I felt awfully 
mean, and ashamed. I wanted to be 
off, and let nobodv see me. When I 
came down stairs I found no one up 
about the house. I began to think 
your uncle did not care for me, and 
that he did not believe it was any use 
for me to sign the pledge. So I con¬ 
cluded to slip away, and never be 
seen again at his house. But the 
little dog came running to me, and I 
began to trip him up, and roll him 
over in the snow, and he snuffed and 
barked at me, until I felt better. He 
kept me there until your uncle came, 

9 * 


102 


MY DOG ROVED. 


and called me into the house. And 
then he talked to me like a father, 
and I signed the pledge.” 

“ Have you kept it ?” 

“ Did you think I would keep it?” 

“ Dnele Alick always thought you 
would.” 

“There do you see that? That’s 
the same old flask ?” He held it up, 
and I was amazed. 

* “ What’s that in it?” I asked. 

“Brandy. Just the same brandy 
that was in it when I signed the 
pledge. Your uncle wanted me to 
pour it out, but I told him I would 
keep it to remember my last spree 
by. I locked it up in my chest, when 
I went away surveying, and left it 
behind me. But I brought it to-day 
to let your uncle see it.” 


MY DOG ROYER. 


103 


“I should think it would he dan¬ 
gerous to keep it.” 

“ It can’t hurt me, if I don’t drink 
it. I keep it, so that I can see my 
old enemy once in a while, and re¬ 
member my victory over him. It’s a 
kind of satisfaction to see him my 
prisoner, and tell him that he never 
will get me in his power again.” 

“ But are you not tempted some¬ 
times ?” 

“ I was for a while. It was hard 
work at first to keep him in there. 
I’ve been west with some surveyors, 
and they used to drink, and try to 
put the bottle to my mouth, but I 
kept sober in spite of them. Have not 
tasted a drop; and do you see that? 
That’s what saved me.” Reuel drew 
from his pocket a Testament, and 


104 


MY DOG ROYER. 


handed me. “ Your uncle gave me 
that when I signed the pledge.” 

“ Have you read it?” I could see 
that it had been well thumbed. 

“ Yes, and I used to get my com¬ 
rades around me in our tent, and 
read it to them. I persuaded two of 
them to quit drinking. Do you see 
that? The first two names after mine 
are theirs.” He gave me a pledge 
signed by several persons. 

“ Why, it is the same old pledge 
that uncle wrote for you.” 

“ Yes, and it is as full as it can 
hold. I want him to paste it on a 
larger paper, and then I’m going to 
get the names of all the hard cases I 
can. I think I’ll have shoemaker 
Speers’ name there yet. That will be 
my revenge on him.” 


MY DOG ROYER. 


105 


“ What other paper is this ?” 

“ Read it.” So I read thus : 

“ We, whose names are here sub¬ 
scribed, solemnly pledge ourselves 
before Almighty God that we will no 
longer use profane language, nor play 
cards.” Reuel’s name stood as the 
first of five signatures. 

“ I got four of our surveyors to 
sign it, and I’m going to get more 
names. This kind of work keeps me 
up ; it makes me stronger; for it is 
doing good. Keep doing good and 
the evil one won’t trouble you half so 
much. That’s my doctrine now.” 

Rover was sitting on his haunches, 
still eyeing the squirrel. Reuel went 
on telling me how he had made mo¬ 
ney, and sent it to his widowed sister, 
and how her boys were going to school 


106 


MY DOG ROYER. 


with as good clothes and as new books 
as anybody’s boys need have. “ And 
they will be temperance boys too,” 
said he, “ for I showed them my old 
enemy, the other night, shut up here 
in his prison, and they declared that 
1 he never should get out to bind his 
chains on them.” 

u That is a beautiful squirrel you 
have there,” said I, greatly wondering 
why Reuel had brought him along. 

“ Oh yes ; I like to have forgot what 
I came for. You see this temperance 
business takes all my thoughts. Now 

-” (Reuel took the box on his knee, 

and began to open it)— “ now I’ve 
felt sorry about that little spaniel you 
lost. If it had not been for me, he 
would/not have been killed. I’ve 
thought about it ever since. And so 



MY DOG ROYER. 


107 


I’ve got something for you—it’s no¬ 
thing to what your little dog was, hut 
I want you to have this squirrel.” 

“ Oh thank you, sir ! where did you 
get him ?” The squirrel had sat a 
moment on Reuel’s hand, and then he 
sprung upon the top of his head, and 
there he seated himself, and was bark¬ 
ing at Rover, while Rover looked on 
astonished, and I was laughing. 

“ Found a nest of them in a tree 
that we cut down. I kejDt three of 
them.” 

“ Did you carry them about over 
the country with you?” 

“ Yes, and used to pet them. 
They are young yet, but will be quite 
large when grown. I gave the others 
to my nephews. This is a real fox- 
squirrel.” 


108 


MY DOG ROVER. 


“ You are very kind, sir, indeed. I 
fear you will miss his company.” 

“ Oh, it’s nothing—nothing at all. I 

owe your uncle-” 

“ Why, how do you do, Reuel ?” 
u How are } f ou, Uncle Alick ?” Uncle 
Alick had come upon us by surprise. 
Their questions came fast, and an¬ 
swers were full, until they began to 
understand each other. The squirrel 
went into the parlour, and made him¬ 
self at home. Then he passed into 
another room, and had the other part 
of the family admiring him. He 
sprang upon a bureau, peeped into the 
mirror set in the front of the clock, 
saw himself, and supposing the image 
to be a brother of his, he crept round 
to the back side of the clock to find 
him. He seemed amazingly puzzled. 



MY DOG ROYER. 


109 


Reuel talked of his old enemy, and 
said, “ jNTow, Uncle Alick, I want you 
to take him, and when vou hold a 
temperance meeting, just show him to 
the people, and tell them how to 
serve him. I am going to give him to 
the temperance society.” 

“ Quite a strange idea,” said Un¬ 
cle Alick. “ But perhaps it might do 
good to let people look the foe in the 
face, and consign him to perpetual 
imprisonment. We’ll seal the flask, 
and label it, “The enemy captured!” 

“ And now, Uncle Alick, I want to 
work for you.” 

“ Well, Reuel, you are just the man. 
I want you.” 

So the agreement was entered into, 
and Reuel became an inmate of the 

house. Often did we speak of how 
10 


110 


MY DOG DOVER. 


much good Rover had been the means 
of doing to each of us. Reuel heaped 
“ coals of fire,” on the head of Mr. 
Speers, the shoemaker, in the scrip¬ 
tural way, by securing his name to the 
temperance pledge, and when Mrs. 
Speers was confessing to her Uncle 
Reuel, how wicked she and her hus¬ 
band had been, when thev beat him 
and sent him away on a cold winter 
night, he said—“ You meant it for 
evil, but Grod has over-ruled it for 
good.” 


MY DOG ROYER. 


Ill 


CHAPTER VII. 

Rover starting a Sabbath-school. 

An Indian had told Reuel that 
Adjidaumo was the name for the red 
squirrel, and so my new pet was called 
Adjie. A larger box was fitted up 
for him, and out of one door he could 
step into a revolving cylinder, whose 
sides were made of open bars. It 
was his gymnasium, and there he had 
many a lively time, treading the 
wheel, until he made it whirl around 
so fast that he must have had a very 
dim view of those who were looking 
upon the sport. 

He grew so tame that w^e voted him 


112 


MY DOG ROVER. 


the freedom of the house, and he 
made himself very free. From cellar 
to garret he went; into pantry and 
bureau he crept; through yard and 
garden he roamed, and in the barn 
and corn-crib he made himself as per¬ 
fectly at home as his nature would 
permit. Although, taught by in¬ 
stinct to “beware of dogs,” he learned 
that Rover would not hurt him. Yet 
they would never eat out of the same 
dish, nor shake hands. 

Yet with all our efforts to civilize 
him, his nature could not be changed. 
He was a squirrel still ; he wanted to 
be where squirrels are, and live as 
squirrels do. He saw the cat every 
day, but he could not form the home¬ 
like habits of Grimalkin. Though 
he often helped himself to a cake, it 


MY DOG ROYER. 


113 


never tasted quite so good as a beech¬ 
nut, and though he could sleep, 
through a cold winter night, in a 
warm box, yet this was not so pleas¬ 
ant to him, as to lie snug in a nest in 
a tree-top, and be swung by the win¬ 
ter’s storm. It may be easy for us to 
change the outward condition of life, 
but it is hard to change the nature in 
which we were born. 

And here comes a story, that proves 
how hard it is for an Indian to change 
his nature and his habits. After one 
of General Jackson’s battles with the 
Indians, some of his men went to 
recover the wounded, or bury the 
dead. On the bloody field was found 
a slain mother, with a little child in 
her dead arms. The Indian babe was 
brought into camp, to be given to 
10 * 


114 


MY DOG DOVER. 


some of the prisoners, who had been 
taken from his tribe. General Jack- 
son tried to persuade some of the 
Indian women to give it nourishment. 
“ Xo,” said they, “ all his relations 
are dead ; kill him too !” The heart 
of the general was touched, and he 
not only pitied the poor child, and 
kept it alive on brown sugar and 
water, but he sent it to his home, to 
be kindly brought up at the Hermit¬ 
age. Mrs. Jackson, who had no little 
boy to love, was delighted to receive 
him, and he grew up in the family as 
a son and a favourite. 

Lincoyer was the name given to 
him. He was taught at home, and 
at school. Every effort was made to 
civilize him, and help him to form 
the habits of white men. But his 


MY DOG DOVER. 


115 


nature could not be changed. He was 
an Indian still, and wished to do as 
only Indians do. When he saw chil¬ 
dren coming to the house, it was his 
delight to hide in some ambush, and 
as they came along, spring out upon 
them,in real Indian style, and frighten 
them with loud yells and dire grim¬ 
aces. He remained an Indian to the 
last, delighting to roam the fields and 
woods, decorating himself with gay 
feathers, and yearning for the free¬ 
dom of his native forests. 

We all have a sinful nature, that is 
much more ditficult to be changed. 
Education and refinement do not 
change the human heart. It is evil 
still, and loves evil. Many a child, 
in a good home, has so much of the 
old sinful nature about him, that he 


116 


MY DOG ROVER. 


wishes to get away, and be with sin¬ 
ners, and live as they do. It was 
this that led the prodigal son away 
from his good home, to waste his sub¬ 
stance in riotous living. No one but 
God can change our natures. If you 
obey him, when he says, “ My son, 
give me thine heart,” he will give 
you the nature of a child of God. 
Every child should pray, “ Create in 
me a clean heart, 0 God, and renew 
a right spirit within me.” 

It is much better to know this than 
to learn my story. But I will tell the 
rest of it. One warm spring morn¬ 
ing Adjie was missing. I had got 
quite well, and was at work in the 
garden. He had been seen several 
times lately, running on the fence 
toward the “ woods-pasture,” with his 


MY DOG ROYER. 


117 


cheeks as full of corn as a soldier 
has his knapsack, and I began to sus¬ 
pect that he was making himself a 
new home. I went into the pasture, 
looking into the tree-tops, and listen¬ 
ing for him to chatter and bark at me. 
At last he was seen in a large oak. 

In that old oak he made his castle, 
and stored it with the best supplies. 
At first Aunt Mary thought that she 
would be rid of his mischief, but he 
freely came to the house, and seemed 
to be more mischievous than ever. 
One day he took great liberties and 
made a great noise, and when she 
looked to see why it was, she saw 
another squirrel on the fence, which 
he was inviting into the house. It 
was one that he, no doubt, had per¬ 
suaded away from the deep woods, to 


118 


MY DOG DOVER. 


come and live with him in the old 
oak. There they dwelt, and reared a 
family, of whom Adjie seemed very 
proud. He lost much of his tame¬ 
ness, but yet would often visit the 
house. In a year or two, there were 
‘ seven of them, and Uncle Alick took 
a pleasure in pointing them out to 
our friends, giving express orders that 
none of them should be shot. 

The fame of Adjie and his family, 
dwelling in the castle of the oak, 
reached the ears of some boys who 
had never been in a Sabbath-school, 
or they would scarcely have done so 
base a deed as that which I am about 
to record. Mike Brady had seen the 
prize, and he was resolved to have it 
as soon as the way might be clear. 
Spying about, one Saturday afternoon, 


MY DOG ROVER. 


119 


he found that our house was shut up, 
for we had gone away to church, and 
left Rover upon guard duty. Rover 
was watching against beggars, and 
not dreaming of any one coming up 
through the pasture with bad intent. 
Mike laid his plans, and with his 
three comrades, went to the old oak- 
tree. 

“ Crack,” went a rifle, and from 
the tree-top fell a squirrel, and up 
from the ground in the front door- 
yard sprang Rover, and there he 
stood listening. “ Bang” went an¬ 
other rifle, and a squirrel dropped. 
Rover started—heard the boys talk¬ 
ing loudly, and ran with all his 
might, barking furiously. 

“ How they act,” said Mike, with 
his head bent back, and his eyes gaz- 


120 


MY DOG ROVER. 


injr into the tree. “Never shot at 
before, I reckon.” 

“Uncle Alick, as they call him, 
will find that it don’t pay to raise his 
own squirrels,” said one of the boys, 
taking aim and firing, and bringing- 
down another. 

“ Won’t he take on, though, if he 
finds this out?” said another, loading 
his °*un in haste. 

“ Look out for that dog, Mike ; he 
will pounce on you if you are not care¬ 
ful. Just pet him a little.” 

“ Better shoot him,” grumbled a 
profane boy. 

“ Rover, come—don’t you know 
me?” Mike had lately been in Un¬ 
cle Alick’s orchard, and Rover knew 
him very well. “ Be a good dog, Ro¬ 
ver,” continued Mike, looking into the 



MY DOG HOVER. 


121 


tree, and fixing his eye on a squirrel. 
He drew up and fired, but what he hit 
nobody ever knew. Rover had sprung 
on him, and had him by the coat 
collar. 

“ Shoot him, John!” cried a boy, 
whose father said that “ Billy could 
hunt as well as anybody, but never 
killed anything.” 

“ Ho ! no ! don’t shoot—don’t! don’t 
—you’ll hit me!” exclaimed Mike, who 
was now upon the grass with Rover’s 
paws upon his breast. “ Hurry, take 
him off!” 

John came up in haste with a rough 
club and was about lifting it to bring 
down upon Rover, when Mike per¬ 
ceived another danger, and said with 
an oath, “ Don’t strike ! He’ll jump 
from under it, and then you’ll hit me.” 
n 


122 


MY DOG ROYER. 


“ What shall we do then ?” 

* 

“ Why, take him off? Lay hold of 
him ?” But not one of them thought 
it prudent to try it. Thus matters 
stood when help came from an unex¬ 
pected quarter. 

* Aunt Anna had remained at home 
with a violent headache, and as silence 
seemed to reign about her house, the 
boys had concluded that no one was 
at home. She had heard the firing 
and the barking, and wondered what 
it all could mean. She looked out of 
her upper window, and saw that Adjie 
was being besieged in his castle, and 
at once suspected that Rover was not 
able to raise the siege. Cautiously 
she came nearer, until she saw that 
there were none but boys about the 
oak, and then she made haste to the 



ROYER AND MIKE 


Page 123 











\ 


MY DOG ROYER. 123 

spot. When she called out, “ Boys,” 
the boys, who were free to run, scam¬ 
pered off in alarm. 

“ Rover, off sir, off!” And at her 
word he allowed Mike to rise to his 
feet. “ Are you hurt ?” 

“No, ma’am. Only scared. Didn’t 
think the dog would do that way.” 

“ Why, Mike! Ain’t you Mike 
Brady ? What are you doing here ?” 

“Yes, ma’am. We were just hunt¬ 
ing a little. Thought we had a right 
to hunt here.” He knew that this 
was not true. 

“You knew this was a pasture. 
You knew that these squirrels were 
almost tame ones which Uncle Alick 
would not have killed for anything. 
And here you have been shooting 
them.” 


124 


MY DOG ROYER. 


“ I’ll not shoot any more—only 
shot one. The other boys shot the 
rest.” 

“ Call them back here.” They stood 
off about twenty rods, and Mike called 
them. Two of them came. I will not 
say that Aunt Anna “ read them a 
lecture,” for she spoke extemporan¬ 
eously, and right to their consciences. 
When she gave them the history of 
Adjie, they felt ashamed and perhaps 
wished that they had never learned to 
shoot a gun in all their lives. 

“ Let me see the squirrels that you 
have shot,” said Aunt Anna, in a gen¬ 
tle tone. They brought them. “ Ad¬ 
jie is not one of them. I’m glad of 
that,” and the boys were glad too. 

“ We won’t take any of them,” said 
Mike. “ You can take them.” 



MY DOG ROYER. 


125 


“ No, they are not mine. And if 
they are sent to uncle Alick, the boys 
will only feel the worse for what you 
have done. I shall tell all about it. 
But you must take them—and after 
you eat these, I hope you will never 
shoot anything again that you have 
no right to shoot.” 

The boys promised that they never 
would, and started into the woods, 
feeling ashamed so long as aunt 
Anna was looking at them. 

After they were fairly out of her 
sight, they fell to blaming each other, 
and at last quarrelled about which 
one should take their plunder. Not 
because each one wanted the whole of 
it, but because no one wanted any of 
it. They were finally forced upon 
Mike, and when he took them home, 

ii * 


126 


MY DOG ROYER. 


he made rather crusty answers to his 
mother, when she asked where he had 
found such large fat game. They 
were not game, they were plunder. 
Game is what one has a right to 
kill in the woods running wild, hut 
what one has no right to shoot is 
plunder. Mike had, perhaps, never 
had so little relish for a dish of squir¬ 
rels as he had that night when these 
were set before him at supper. 

The affair was told at our house 
that evening, by aunt Anna, who as¬ 
sured us that Adjie was not among 
the slain. But we boys were troubled 
lest he might have been wounded. 
Uncle Alick sat pondering, when told 
that Mike Brady was among them, 
for he had feared for some time that 
this boy would become a ring-leader 


MY DOG ROVER. 


127 


in mischief, if not in crime. But he 
kept his thoughts to himself until a 
new idea came into his mind. 

“ Well, we have not clone our duty 
to those boys,” said he. “We must 
start a Sabbath-school in that neigh¬ 
bourhood. There’s a school-house 
just by the old Indian Garden, and if 
we cannot get that, we must find a 
barn somewhere to hold it in. What 
do you say, Anna ?” 

“ I like the idea.” And they set 
themselves right earnestly to lay their 
plans, and carry them out. So that 
the event was overruled for good, and 
Rover was one of the humble agents 
in causing the Sabbath-school at the 
Indian Garden to be started. You 
see that even a dog may do some good 
in the world. 


128 


MY DOG EOYER. 


Only once or twice afterward was 
Adjie seen by any of us, and then he 
seemed to be “ moving,” with his 
goods and family, and was very wild; 
where he went, and how long he 
lived, I cannot tell. But I know that 
lie ceased his chatter in the oak- 
tree. 

After one of my pets was gone, I 
thought all the more of the other. 
And why should I not love Rover? 
For as some one has written— 

“ There is no animal that comes 
nearer to being human than the dog. 
The dog is a universal favourite, espe¬ 
cially in the country. What little boy 
or girl, in the farming regions of our 
wide land, that has not at least one 
pet of this race, large or small, which 
holds a place so like that of brother, 


MY DOG ROVER. 


129 


or sister, or friend, that the loss of it 
would till the heart and the house with 
sorrow? A temporary separation 
even is painful; and oh ! what joy, 
what overflowing of affectionate wel¬ 
come when they meet again. We 
have many pets in the course of our 
lives. We feel a great interest and 
jDride in a horse; we are pleased and 
amused with rabbits and squirrels, 
with chickens and ducks, but we love 
and trust in a dog as we do in any 
other real intelligent, affectionate, use¬ 
ful friend.” 

And now when I had but one pet, 
I soon had reason to fear that he was 
to be taken away. Rover performed 
a very daring exploit one day, and 
brought upon himself a great deal of 
suffering. It was on this wise. 


130 


MY DOG ROYER. 


Charles and I were sitting on a log 
in the wood-lot, not far from the place 
where Adjie had his castle, and we 
were having no little sad talk about 
the lost squirrel. All at once we heard 
a rustling of the old leaves that were 
thickly strewn upon the ground ? 

“ What’s that?” said Charles. 

“ Who are you ?” Rover seemed to 
ask with a gruff voice, as he stood 
bristling up for our defence. The 
only answer was a louder rustling of 
the leaves. Rover seemed to demand 
in bolder terms, who the intruder 
was, and what business he had on our 
grounds. 

“ It’s a woodchuck,” said Charles. 
“ See how he legs it round that old 
stump ! JSTow we’ll have fun enough 
for one afternoon.” 


MY DOG DOVER. 


131 


“ I’ll have him,” Rover seemed to 
say, and marched forward in stately 
style, until he came to the point for 
making a deadly charge. But he did 
not make the charge as we expected. 
He only stood and barked at the 
strange animal. 

“What! afraid of a woodchuck!” 
said Charles, as if he would put Rover 
to shame for cowardice. “ Pitch into 
him !” Charles ran forward to make 
an attack upon the other side of the 
enemy, but the strange creature made 
a dash at him, and came near putting 
a spear into him, but he dodged around 
a stump, and thought it wise to leave 
the battle to Rover, who growled fu¬ 
riously, but did nothing more. 

“ Did you ever see such a thing?” 
exclaimed Charles. 


132 


MY DOG ROYER. 


“ It’s not a woodchuck, sure,” I re¬ 
plied. 

“ It’s more like a flax-hatchel on 
all fours, and mad as a hornet,” said 
the wondering and staring Charles. 

“ More like a huge chesnut-burr 
alive, and walking about crazy.” 

“ He looks just like that porcupine 
in your Natural History.” 

“ And exactly like one that Reuel 
told us about. The quills are just 
like those which he showed us.” 

“ Look out, or he will throw his 
quills into you.” 

“ He can’t throw them. Reuel says 
it is only when they touch you that 
they stick fast.” 

“ Let’s club him then, and we will 
get some quills to work up as the In¬ 
dians do.” 


MY DOG ROYER. 


133 


The porcupine was now very angry. 
Every quill was pointing straight out 
from his body. And we could scarcely 
see his head or his feet. He was 
moving backward, and holding his 
eye upon Rover, to keep him at bay. 

We got each a long club and gave 
the porcupine a broadside that sent 
him rolling over on the grass. Rover 
seemed to forget that prudence is 
sometimes the better part of valour, 
dashed upon the victim, and soon 
made an end of him. Rover then 
began to sneeze, and paw the ground, 
and try to work the quills out of his 
feet and his jaws. He was in much 
pain, but his efforts to gain relief only 
made a bad matter still worse. 

We were so intent upon our curi¬ 
ous prize, that Rover did not receive 
12 


134 


MY DOG ROYER. 


the attention which a careful surgeon 
would have bestowed upon him. He 
pushed himself against me, put his 
paw into my hand, and tried to make 
me understand that I must pull the 
quills out of his mouth, but I did not 
gather the meaning of bis strange 
movements. We dragged the porcu¬ 
pine borne, and had a good supply of 
quills to show, as well as a long story 
to tell. 

It was dark when uncle Alick came 

* 

home, but Rover appealed to him for 
relief, and he was understood. The 
noble dog was led into the room, and 
the surgical operation was commenced. 
He placed his head upon uncle Alick’s 
knee, shut his eyes, and without a 
whimper allowed the quills to be ex¬ 
tracted. 


MY DOG ROYER. 


135 


“ Don’t it hurt him ?” inquired 
Charles, in a tone of tender pity. 

“ I guess it does,” said I, u see, he 
is crying.” I almost cried too. 

L “ He is very brave about it,” said 
uncle Alick. “ He seems to know 
that the pain which he now suffers 
will save him from a great deal worse 
pain hereafter. He is teaching you a 
good lesson, my boys.” 

“ What is that, father ?” inquired 
Charles, who fully understood uncle 
A lick’s way of moralizing upon the 
most common events. 

“ Hot to touch porcupines,” said I, 
perhaps wishing to divert his mind 
from the moral lesson. 

“ That is a very good lesson cer¬ 
tainly,” said uncle Alick, carefully 
drawing a little quill from Rover’s 


136 


MY DOG ROYER. 


tongue, while the willing patient 
opened his mouth as wide as he could. 
“ But learn also never to touch any¬ 
thing evil.” 

It became one of uncle Alick’s 
proverbs, ‘ Never touch any evil thing, 
for it may prove a porcupine.’ 

“ But the lesson that I was about to 
mention,” continued uncle Alick, “ is 
this, Rover is teaching you how to 
bear a little pain, in order to prevent 
a greater one. He shows you how 
to act when you must have a tooth 
drawn.” 

“ Oh father, that’s awful!” said 
Charles. 

“ Not quite awful , my son, although 
it is by no means pleasant. With a 
good strong will, one may find it a 
short way to get rid of much severe 


MY DOG ROYER. 


137 


suffering. I knew of a little boy who 
had the toothache. Several times he 
went with his mother to the dentist’s, 
but as soon as the kind doctor put his 
hand on the boy’s cheek, he made 
such a noise about it, that his mother 
said to him, ‘ Yery well, if you prefer 
to have the toothache, we will go 
home.’ And home they went. 

“ But one morning, when he was 
brought to the dentist’s door, and be¬ 
gan to be afraid again, he saw another 
little boy sitting in the doctor’s chair, 
like a general, and about to have his 
tooth drawn. He asked who it was, 
and was told that it was his little 
friend Walter. He looked a moment, 
and then asked, ‘Walter, does it hurt 
much ?’ 

“But Walter knew that it was no 
12 * 


138 


MY DOG ROYER. 


time for him to be answering any¬ 
body’s questions, and he said not a 
word. The other little bov stood in 
the door looking on, until the opera¬ 
tion was over, and then growing brave 
and manly, he said to his mother, 
‘Well, if Walter can stand it to have 
a tooth drawn, I can too. Come on, 
mother.’ So he walked in, and sub¬ 
mitted to the painful operation almost 
as patiently as Rover now is doing.” 

“ That’s what I call good pluck.” 

“ Call it what you please, my boys, 
it is what you may need some time in 
your lives. Be patient, and bear pain 
if it must be endured. And I can 
tell you of something to support you 
under it.” 

“'What is that?” I asked. 

“ It is something very serious, and 


MY DOG DOVER. 


139 


it must not bo lightly spoken of. It 
is the Bible remedy for every kind of 
suffering. It would have done you a 
great deal of good, Maxwell, if you 
had employed it when you were so 
long sick. I mean prayer; you will 
always find that prayer is a balm for 
pain. It may not remove the pain, 
but it will bring you strength to bear 
it. And there is another remedy.’’ 

We could not imagine what this 
second remedy was, and solemnly 
waited to hear what uncle Alick was 
about to propose. 

“ I mean the memory of our Sa¬ 
viour’s sufferings. A good man once 
said, ‘ When I am suffering great 
pain, I think how much greater pain 
mv Lord suffered for me, and then he 

%j * 

seems to say, My grace is sufficient 


140 


MY DOG ROYER. 


for thee. This is enough to comfort 
me.’ Do not forget these two reme¬ 
dies for pain.” 

We ought to be very thankful that 
we have souls which can employ such 
means of relief. The irrational ani¬ 
mals cannot use them, and yet they 
must suffer quite as much bodily pain 
as we do. We should be kind to 
them, so that their sufferings may be 
as light as possible. 

Poor Rover ! It would touch your 
nerves to tell you how he looked the 
next morning, even after what had 
been done for him. It was some time 
before he could eat without great 
pain, and we feared that he would 
die. And yet he taught us a very 
useful lesson of patience. 

He also knew how to make a s;ood 


MY DOG ROYER. 


141 


use of the sunshine while he was ill, 
just as another dog that I have read 
of in a larger hook than this. Some 
one thus writes of his good dog Tray: 

“ The day had been overcast, but 
suddenly the sun shone out, and a lit¬ 
tle patch of sunshine brightened the 
corner of the carpet. Immediately 
Tray got up, and, with a wise look, 
trotted to the bright place, and laid 
himself upon it. ‘ There’s true phi¬ 
losophy,’ said George; ‘only one patch 
of sunlight in the place, and the sa¬ 
gacious little dog walks out of the 
shadow to roll himself in the bright¬ 
ness.’ Let not Tray’s example be 
lost upon us; but whenever there 
shall shine one patch of sunlight, let 
us enjoy it.” 

There was one thing that Rover 


142 


MY DOG ROYER. 


loved more than he did sunshine. 
That was his master’s smile. And 
we all may profit by this lesson. We 
all may find great happiness in the 
smile of a father, or a mother, or a 
teacher, or any one who may have 
a rightful authority over us, and a 
kindly interest in us. But the best 
of all is the light of our heavenly 
Father’s face. Ever let us pray, “ Lift 
thou upon us the light of thy counte¬ 
nance.” 

Rover lived to a good old age, but 
the moral purpose of his life has been 
summed up in the story set before 
you. To trace it further, involves the 
history of a Sabbath-school, in a 
neighbourhood where the pioneers 
were infidels and scoffers, and where 
no one had yet taught the Bible pub- 


MY DOG DOVER. 


143 


licly, nor had a minister of the gos¬ 
pel found the people willing to have 
him preach. If spared, we hope to 
write the story of Uncle Alick’s Sab¬ 
bath-school. 

Now one question. If Rover was 
a means of causing others to be bet¬ 
ter, or to do any good in the w r orld, 
why may not you? He had not a 
soul as you have. He had only in¬ 
stinct ; you have reason, and may 
have faith, love, and piety. 

Perhaps duty is “ a cross.” Be it 
so—but bear it. A little child once 
wanted to know how it was ever a 
“ cross” to serve God. The father was 
wise enough to explain it thus. He 
took two slips of wood, a long one, 
and a short one. “See, my child,” 
said he, “ the long piece is the will of 


/ 


144 


MY DOG HOVER. 


God. The short piece is your will; 
lay your will in a line with the will 
of God, and you have no cross ; lay 
it athwart, and you make a cross 
directly.” 

If our souls agree with him, we 
will have faith in God. If our hearts 
agree with his, we will have love ; if 
our wills are one with his, we will 
find the Saviour’s yoke to be easy and 
the burden light. But if there still 
be a cross, look up, there is also a 
crown. 






















CONGRESS 


BRARY O 













